The Innocent (33 page)

Anne sighed and closed her eyes, seeing it all again. “Last night, I was in the chapel—”

“The chapel…but…” Jehanne stopped herself. Best let the girl find her own words. “Go on. You were in the chapel…”

“Yes, and I saw the Earl of Warwick and…the king’s brother. The Duke of Clarence…” And then it all poured out, the exchange she had heard between the two men, the implied treason, and the enmity of George for the king. When she had finished, Anne was rocking herself back and forth, a child needing comfort.

Jehanne was silent for a moment as she thought. Clearly Anne was speaking the truth and somehow the king needed to be warned. But how to do it and ensure both Anne, and she, survived the telling? “I think I shall speak to Lord Hastings—but I’m afraid he will need to speak to you also.”

Anne was no fool. She could hear the unacknowledged fear in Jehanne’s voice, and she knew that what she’d heard was potentially explosive in the overheated atmosphere of the court and its maneuvering factions. “Oh, I wish Deborah were here, she would know what to do,” she whispered.

There was silence for a moment and then Jehanne said, in an odd strangled voice, “Deborah?”

Anne, who was screwing up her courage to tell the next part of her story, didn’t hear the odd tone.

“Deborah is my foster mother. She took me in after my mother died having me. She brought me up.”

Jehanne was staring at her now, her face fixed and white in the gloom. The intensity of the look was arresting. “This…Deborah. Is she alive?”

“Oh, yes. She found me my place at Blessing House. She taught me everything I know of simples and healing.”

“Where did you live, girl?”

“Our house was in the forest. It’s close to the marches of Wales, away to the west.”

“Are there king’s lands near your home?”

“Yes. There’s an old lodge and a hunting preserve. But Deborah says it was last in her mother’s time that the court came there to hunt. There’s just the game wards and a reeve to look after the king’s lands.

They never bothered us.”

“Yes…” The word was breathed out, like a long sigh. Quietly, Dame Jehanne got to her feet and with a shaking hand picked up one of the oil lamps, holding it close to Anne’s face so that she could see her clearly. “Turn your head, child. Now the other way. Now look me in the eyes.”

Obediently, Anne did as she was told, questions hovering on her tongue, as Jehanne, apparently satisfied by her inspection, put the lamp down very carefully and sat looking at Anne in silence. The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length until at last Jehanne sighed. “How may I contact your foster mother, child? Does she ever come to London?”

Anne was alarmed. “Will I have to leave the court?”

Jehanne laughed a little; it was a harsh sound. “I do not know, girl. What you have told me is serious indeed, perhaps much more serious than we can imagine. But…perhaps you hold a key to this puzzle. I think she will want us to meet.”

Poor Jehanne. For a moment, as she gazed at Anne, her face crumpled and it seemed as if she would cry. Anne rushed to comfort her. “Ah, do not upset yourself, mistress. There will be a way to tell the king, I am sure of it.” Gently, she gathered both of Jehanne’s hands in her own, making soothing little noises, the kind a mother used to comfort a child.

The warmhearted gesture seemed to shock the old lady even more. Grasping Anne by the shoulders, Jehanne looked searchingly into the girl’s eyes and nodded fearfully. “Yes, I have seen your kindness before now. My God…oh, my God. You’ve never been like the others—now I see why.”

Anne was even more perplexed. “What do you mean, Dame Jehanne? Which others?”

But Jehanne only shook her head. “Your foster mother. How can I get her a message?”

Why did Anne feel such fear as she replied? “It’s hard to get messages to the forest. Sometimes I’ve been able to send word with a tinker who’s our friend. He buys his stock in London and stays at an inn called the Angel, in the east Chepe, when he’s here.”

“And when will he be in London next?”

“He may be there now. Sometimes he winters over and goes back on the roads in spring.”

Jehanne got up briskly, all emotion banished. “I shall return later but in the meantime you are not to leave this room. I shall think on what you have told me.”

It was only after the old woman had left the dorter that it occurred to Anne that she had not told Jehanne about the king. She hugged the thought of him, the sense of him, to herself. And then, without being aware, she fell back on the bed and slept well, for the first time in many days.

Meanwhile, Jehanne hurried through the castle to where the queen’s guard was stationed in the outer ward, looking for an old friend of hers, a certain sergeant she’d known since she was a girl. He came from the same area she did, just outside Patrington in the Holderness of the north. She found him, muffled in his old campaign cloak, down in the enormous stables that housed the king’s and queen’s horses. It was said these stables were big enough to keep and feed over two hundred animals, even in winter.

“Sergeant Cage?”

The man turned toward the voice—a lady’s voice but familiar. “Dame Jehanne. Why, it’s a pleasure to see you here.” Then the sergeant frowned; it was not fitting for a woman to be around the stables.

“Yes, Sergeant, I know. I shouldn’t be here but I need you to do something for me, if you can. Urgently.

I need a trusted man to be sent to London with a message.” The old lady pulled out a purse and carefully counted out a number of groats and two silver pennies. “I hope I shall not inconvenience you too much. You know I would not ask if it were not very important. Will this be enough?”

His hardened hand closed over hers. “Put thy money away, lass.” He said it softly and crossed social bounds to speak like this, but there’d been a sweet tenderness between them once, when they’d been young, and he’d never forgotten it. Neither had she. And he remembered her as she’d been, the fairest thing ever to be born on her father’s small holding. “Now, where is this message? And who am I to send it to?”

Jehanne gave him the message then, warmed by old memories, hurried away, back to the solar. There she found the queen’s rooms in an uproar; Elizabeth had indeed found the hunt too much and had returned to the castle ahead of the king. She’d managed to put a brave face on things until she’d got to her rooms among her own people, and then she’d collapsed. Immediately, Jehanne set about getting her undressed and into bed—if only the queen’s lady attendants would get out of the way. She dispatched Evelyn to bring Anne from the dorter, for every pair of hands was needed now.

The queen was lying, eyes closed and white-faced, across the lap of Lady de Sommerville, the wife of a powerful northern land-holder and staunch supporter of the House of York, as Jehanne tried to unlace the dress without further disturbing her mistress. The rest of the lady servitors in the room clustered around, each offering conflicting advice.

“Well, I think a hot posset mixed with egg, a little malmsey, and nutmeg would be the best thing…”

“Not at all—spices would be very bad for her in this condition…”

“A hot brick for the queen’s feet?” It was the most sensible thing Jehanne had yet heard and she looked up gratefully to Anne as she hurried into the room ahead of Evelyn.

“Yes, child. Quickly. Now, Your Majesty, we’re unlaced. Lady de Sommerville, if you would just help Her Majesty to stand.” With the last of the lacing free, the gown could be loosened and slipped off as the queen got to her feet and stood there swaying, eyes closed. Quickly, Evelyn stepped forward with a velvet dressing wrap furred with bands of marten and lynx, and Jehanne swathed Elizabeth in its folds.

“There now, madam. Lean on me, and we shall have you in your bed in no time…”

From under closed lids, slow fat tears slid down the queen’s face. Her ladies looked at her in astonishment: the queen must be seriously ill, no one had ever seen her cry. Except when the Lady Elizabeth her daughter, had been born, of course, but that was just natural disappointment.

“Ah, Jehanne, I am so cold, so cold…” The queen put her hand on her belly fearfully. “Do you think I have injured him?” The ladies looked at one another, momentarily uncertain.

It was Anne who spoke. “No, Your Majesty. You are healthy and strong. All you need is rest and warmth. And to sleep. See, we have the bed prepared.” She spoke quietly but the calm authority in her voice worked. Meekly, the queen nodded and climbed up into the great bed amid perfect silence. The others were so amazed that a servant had spoken uninvited that they had nothing to say.

Settled under the counterpane, snuggled up with her hair neatly braided like a small, clean child, the queen looked just like any other young woman, and compassion flooded Anne’s heart. The life of a queen was hard. Everyone watched you all the time, and who was there to trust, really trust? Courtiers sought your friendship for advantage, not because they liked you. No wonder Elizabeth was difficult to deal with.

As she pulled up the coverlet of finest winter sables backed with silk, Anne wondered what the queen would see if she opened her eyes now. Would she see a servant? Or would she see through the façade to the slattern who lurked beneath? But the queen did not open her eyes and soon drifted away, soothed and warm, into a deep sleep.

The lady servitors were drifting out of the room as Jehanne signaled the body servants could leave as well, but as Anne turned to go with her friends, Jehanne held her back. “I want you to stay here with the queen until she wakes. There are things I must do before the king returns.”

Now Anne was alone with the queen as the rain beat against the windows and the fire sputtered quietly in the corner hearth. She stood at the foot of the great bed for a moment watching the queen breathe.

Without all her fine clothes Elizabeth was just another woman—as she was. Anne sighed deeply and walked away to a stone seat built into the wall under one of the windows. Slumping down, she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Perhaps the icy feel of the panes would restore some sense. She had to think her way around the present situation. What would she say to the king when he asked her about last night? And how would she deal with her feelings?

“Lady Mary, give me strength. Oh, please…” The whispered prayer was fervent but not sincere—she could not lie to herself. Yes, she needed strength, but she did not want it. “Ah, Jesu,” she groaned aloud, and the woman in the bed stirred. Anne held her breath. The queen settled back into sleep and the girl was alone with her thoughts once more, thoughts of Edward, pray as she might. Then she heard voices outside the door—a quiet exchange, two men—and a moment later the door eased open and there stood the king, muddied and wet from the hunt.

For a moment he did not see her, his attention was on the woman in the bed, but unconsciously Anne moved slightly, and he turned to find the source of the tiny sound. Their eyes locked. And very slowly he smiled.

She could feel her heart pound as he walked toward her like a hunter, his eyes fixed on hers, almost, it seemed, willing her not to move. Finally, he stood a pace away and she could smell him. Wood smoke and wet leather and horses, and she knew that if she reached up to touch his face it would be cold. Her throat was tight and she was breathing fast; if she did not get up and walk away, the die would be cast.

It would be too late.

He moved a little closer and she could hear him breathing. Leisurely, he stripped off one hunting glove, very deliberately, very slowly, silently. She dropped her glance away from his eyes.

“Look at me.” It was said in a whisper but it was an order. She looked up and he must have seen the fear in her eyes because he laughed, very softly. “We must still have our conversation, you and I. But perhaps it should not be here.” And then with his free naked hand he touched her face and allowed a finger to linger, for a moment, on her mouth. “Pretty.” Then he turned away and walked over to his wife’s bed. “You may leave us, Anne. Send for Jehanne, if you would.”

He was the king now, formal and distant, and she could not have been more grateful. Quickly, she sprang to her feet, curtsied, and almost ran out of the room—straight into Hastings’s arms. He had been waiting for his master outside the door, and he, too, was filthy from the hunt. “Holla! In such a hurry, the Devil must be on your tail.”

It was meant as a joke, of course, but for Anne it rang too close to the truth. “Pardon, sir. I must find Dame Jehanne, the king has asked for her…Perhaps you have seen her?”

William shook his head. “We are not long back from the hunt.”

“So she has not spoken to you, sir?” Anne asked urgently.

“No.” William was puzzled by the girl’s reaction: she looked first disappointed and then greatly relieved. But she hurried away when William let her go, before he could quiz her further. Thoughtfully, he watched her leave. His master’s taste ran to women of all kinds, but he felt a twinge of conscience about this one. He knew of Anne and the king’s interest in her; she was very young, many of them were, but it would be sad if she lost her unexpected and shining openness as a result of the king’s favor.

He sighed and then became impatient. He had many more things to think about than the fate of one servant, no matter how charming she was, not least the health of the queen now that she might be carrying the heir to England’s throne.

Chapter Twenty-four

Richard II’s great bathroom on the ground floor of the king’s lodgings was filled with steam, and much water had slopped onto the painted tiles as Edward and William enjoyed a scalding tub together after the hunt.

“Heat, Dickon, more heat! Bring us more hot water, the taps have given out…and ale. What do you say, William—hot or not?”

“Hot what, Your Majesty?”

“Ale, you fool. Hot ale?”

“Aye. And a hot bath maid or two as well. If I’m to endure yet another stew with Your Grace there must be some compensation, at least.”

The king smiled, wolfish for a moment. “Dickon!” The man scurried back, bringing yet another pitcher of fiercely hot water that he tipped into the bath, accompanied by howls from both men, and much laughter. The king, a wicked look on his face, called William’s bluff. “My chamberlain has requested aid in his ablutions. Any handsome young laundresses you can recommend?”